


Arrogance & Assumption

by clockworkbard



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkbard/pseuds/clockworkbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Charles Xavier has everything he could possibly want. He has his looks, he has the love of every lass he can find in the local taverns, he has a sister who adores him, and a family name that brings respect. The only problem in his life is his arranged marriage to one Lady Moira MacTaggert, a woman he detests, and the troublesome presence of one Mr. Erik Lehnsherr, friend to his betrothed and perennial thorn in his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebooting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebooting/gifts).



“Are you familiar with the work of Darwin?”

“I beg your pardon, Sir?”

“Darwin. Charles Darwin. Are you familiar with his work? _On The Origin of Species_?”

“No...”

“Ah. A shame, that. The sixth edition is out, spreading like wildfire. You should procure yourself a copy. _Now_ , the reason I bring it up is because Darwin proposes this rather _fetching_ idea that all life, in its various diverse forms, arose from common descent through a branching network of evolution by a process known as ‘natural selection’ and adaptation. It’s all quite interesting, but... I have a problem with it.”

“Do you, Sir?”

“Darwin is obsessed with where we come from. I’m more interested in where we’re going. Perhaps the veranda? Where we can be alone...”

“Does this indirect approach work for you, Mister...”

“Xavier. _Lord_ Xavier. Or, if you’d rather, Charles. So... veranda?”

She laughed. A tiny little thing, somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle, if perhaps a bit more dignified than either term would imply, but enough for Charles to know he was making progress, and he pressed his advantage. Idly, he scratched his temple, looking her over before handing her a glass of wine -- her favorite, a lucky guess of course -- and taking a half a step toward the door, silently making the request a third time.

“I do admire the tenacity of Darwin’s studies, though,” he said, almost off-handedly. “Though it is a bit controversial. To suggest that all life -- including _human_ life is, effectively a result of chance rather than the hand of the divine is... intriguing. And somewhat difficult to stomach, when I am presented with such obvious evidence of God’s touch as I have been this evening.”

“What evidence do you mean, my lord?” she asked, taking Charles’ bait as if she were born to stumble into his trap, a finger sliding up the stem of her wineglass tellingly.

“Why, my dear,” he said softly, raising his glass to her. “No amount of science can make me believe that beauty such as yours could arise through accident. Your face alone shows God’s touch in every detail.”

“You flatter me, Lord Xavier.”

“Your _looks_ flatter you. I am merely bringing the fact to your attention.”

“Well... the veranda, then?”

“A most delightful idea.”

 

Charles Xavier never liked these parties. Or perhaps he did, in his own way. He certainly didn’t enjoy the small talk nor the political maneuverings of it, didn’t like the expensive wines and champagnes that invariably tasted flat and lifeless, didn’t care to spend hours with his peers, discussing the Queen’s latest hair disaster and how the fashions of London were truly out of hand. He was only there because his father demanded it, just as his father demanded many things, and Charles needed to make an appearance, put up a show of enjoying himself, and pretend that he lived for these events like everyone else.

The only part of it he _did_ like were the ladies. Fine, cultured things in their silk gowns, drowned in perfumes with their hair done up in curls and tresses designed to intrigue and delight. They were the only reason Charles didn’t find himself sulking in a corner at every social event because, after all, he could never resist a challenge. The trick with these parties was to discern which of the many daughters of Britain’s finest were the ones only playing at being so prim and proper, who just needed to be taken somewhere without the prying eyes of society on them for a different game to begin. It’d taken years to master the technique of picking them out, the ladies just as debauched as he ever was, but now he could spot them with his eyes closed, could find the perfect target for his hunt in a few breaths’ time, and he imagined that this delectable creature, tall and blonde and almost impatiently strutting toward the door and the veranda, was just his type. It’d be easier than anything to chat for a few minutes more, flirt a bit further, convince her that the sin was easily forgivable, in the young and restless such as they, and then they’d be off to somewhere far more comfortable. It was a plan that had worked a thousand times before, and would work a thousand times more, with feigned declarations of love and empty promises to make her an honest and proper lady at soonest chance.

Charles couldn’t help but smile, right up until the moment when he felt a hand, strong and hard, on his shoulder, holding him back.

“I beg your pardon,” said the man, smiling with far too many teeth. “Lord Xavier, I believe?”

“Yes,” Charles replied stiffly. He shrugged the hand off of his shoulder, putting on an unfriendly smile as he turned to face the man and dismiss him. “I’m afraid I’m awfully busy at the moment Mister...?”

“Lehnsherr. Erik Lehnsherr, Sir.”

Charles let his smile shift into something of a sneer as he took the man’s hand, shaking it lightly. _Lehnsherr_. That was a name he knew quite well by now, a name whispered through society for some time. Common stock, climbing to fortune through industry and iron, and now the newest intruder upon polite society thinking himself fit to intrude into his betters’ business. Charles wasn’t sure who he’d bribed to get an invitation to this party, but he knew for sure that he _wasn’t_ going to let some ginger smelter keep him from his fun.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Lehnsherr--”

“I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you,” Lehnsherr continued, ignoring the way Charles’ eyes narrowed as the young lord glared at him. “You see, I’m a good friend of your betrothed. Lady MacTaggert.”

Charles paled, and he felt his female companion’s hand slip out of his suddenly. By the time he’d turned to face her, an explanation forming on his lips, he knew the opportunity was lost by the storm in her eyes and the venom in her tongue. Before he could explain that, no, Lady MacTaggert wasn’t his _fiancée_ , they were just very close friends, that it was a common mistake people made, his eyes were stinging and her wine dripped down his face and onto his shirt. She was gone before he could see clearly, and the only thing that Charles noticed was the quiet chuckle he could hear behind him.

“Well, Mr. Lehnsherr,” he snapped, wiping his face on his kerchief as he turned on the taller man. “I do hope you’re quite content with what you’ve done.”

“More than content, my lord,” Lehnsherr was grinning, quite proud of himself, and Charles was overcome with the desire to pummel that grin off of Lehnsherr’s face. The murmurs of the assembled grow stayed his hand, though. The young woman had already made him the center of attention, the last thing his family’s reputation needed was for him to make a _bigger_ scene tonight. Control was required, his father had told him a thousand times before. Now more than ever, Charles realized the old man was right.

“Might I at least inquire as to _why_ you’ve decided to sabotage me, sir?”

“I beg to differ Lord Xavier; I protest that you sabotage yourself.”

“Do I indeed?” Control, Charles reminded himself, finding it rather difficult in the face of Lehnsherr’s iron will.

“Indeed. We both know _your_ family is the party more in need of your wedding,” Lehnsherr’s voice grew colder as his brow arched. “My dear friend Moira’s patience for your antics shan’t hold out forever...”

“That’s _Lady_ MacTaggert to you, _Mister_ Lehnsherr,” Charles spat, leaning into the titles with a slight growl. “It would do you well to remember such things.”

“I remember it better than you give me credit for,” Lehnsherr replied, raising his glass to the irate lordling. “I can see, though, that now isn’t a good time to chat. We’ll need to catch up at a later date. Adieu, Lord Xavier.”

The businessman vanished into the crowd and taking his wide grin with him before Charles could respond, The young lord was left to glare in the direction he’d gone, hopelessly trying to wring wine from his shirt. The assembled guests were still staring, still whispering behind raised hands behind his back, about the exchange of words and the lady’s offense. Charles sighed before assembling his features into the best smile he could manage. He’d put in his appearance, he could leave without offense, and better to do it now before his dignity suffered further.


	2. Chapter 2

For the following weeks the Xavier estate was unusually subdued. To say that a dark cloud had come over the manor would be overdramatic, though that didn’t stop Charles from lamenting as if such were the case. For that matter, based only on Charles’ mood, one might have guess that the entire world had collapsed into a pit, and all joy was lost in mankind.

It seemed as if Lehnsherr’s little gambit had paid off even better than the man could have imagined. What had been, up to that point, a secret arrangement, made between Charles and Mactaggert’s fathers and kept between their respective families and friends had now spread through all of polite society like a disease, traded by hand and mouth down every line until it was impossible for Charles to go anywhere without the knowledge of his imminent nuptials surrounding him. It seemed, indeed, that his days of bachelorhood had been prematurely halted, as he found no guest willing to attend the shameless affairs that had once filled the manor’s halls with wild abandon, and the sort of hedonistic thrill that was only found in the most depraved of young lords and ladies. Now his invitations were met with cold replies, indicating that it was unseemly for a man with a _wife_ to expect such entertainment, that he was above such things, now. After all, soon there would be _children_ to think of.

And so Charles would sit about the manor, reading one of his books (or, more accurately, scowling at a book to give the appearance of reading intently), or he would find Raven and engage in a game of chess (or, more likely, exchange a few turns before finding himself tired of such silly games and walking away when Raven started getting the upper hand). He would look out the window and sigh when he was positive someone was close enough to hear him, he would reminisce about the fond memories he had that were all in the past, now.

It was, in a word, pathetic.

“I just don’t know what you expect me to _do_ , Raven,” he sighed, lounging by the fireplace in his study and looking up at the ceiling. “Everything I’ve ever wanted has just been snatched away from me.”

“You’re stunning, brother. Truly, utterly _stunning_.”

Charles didn’t need to look at Raven’s face to know that she was thoroughly unimpressed with this current state of affairs. He could practically feel the way she looked at him, and imagined her shaking her head as she pursed her lips, arms crossed tightly over her chest. It was an all too familiar image, and thus an attack he knew how to combat handily, until Raven changed her strategy.

“I’m surprised you’ve let Lehnsherr beat you like this,” she advanced, lunging immediately for her brother’s pride. “If all a man has to do in order to reduce the great Charles Xavier to a whimpering babe is keep him away from Lord Stark’s daughter, I’m surprised you weren’t made a laughing stock _years_ ago...”

“So that was Lord _Stark’s_ daughter,” Charles sidestepped her attack, bringing his gaze down from the ceiling to regard her. “I did detect a certain... heiress quality about her. A certain vapidity. You know the type.”

“Charles...” Raven recovered, continuing to advance on her brother. “Is it really _that_ bad?”

“It’s a _disaster_ ” he snapped, parrying her words with a wave of his hand. Something akin to a sneer was forming on his face, but his delicate features shaped it into a softer expression -- an arched brow, a tired twist of the lips, nothing nearly so derisive as a proper _sneer_. That would be impolite, and certainly uncalled for. “I was promised a year to live as I saw fit, before it was all snatched away and now? Everyone knows. Everyone. I can’t take two steps into London without someone whispering behind their hand about me and Lady MacTaggert and what a _match_ we are!”

“They’ve always whispered behind your back!” Raven countered with a reprise, her hands falling to her hips as she shook her head at him. “For years, all they’ve talked about is how much an utter disgrace you are, why should it matter now when they’re finally showing some signs of _respect_!”

“I don’t want respect, I want to--”

“What? To have _fun_?” Raven cried, lunging into another attack while Charles was on the run. “You’re a lord, Charles, and moreover you’re a grown man. You’ve had your boyish fun, now it’s time to grow up. You’ve read your Shakespeare -- God, you read it to _me_. Think of Prince Hal. Now is the moment for you to ‘break through the foul and ugly mists.’”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Charles said, stopping her cut in the air between them. “You can do whatever you wish, just because you’re my father’s _ward_ , and not his daughter. He doesn’t care how you dress, how you behave -- he doesn’t even care about your dalliances with that Irish stablehand!” Raven flinched. Charles smirked. A touch. He pressed his advantage. “Yes, I know. I imagine _everyone_ knows. The way Henry blushes whenever you’re brought up in conversation, the way you smile at him across the grounds. You talk of childish behavior...”

“There is a difference,” Raven deflected.

“I supposed there is,” Charles said, feinting as he picked at a bit of dirt beneath his fingernail. “The difference is that you’re free to live your life as you choose, and I’m not.”

“You agreed to marry her!”

“After. A. Year.” And _now_ Charles sneered, standing up to tower over her (and failing, as he cursed her height not for the first time). “I agreed because I knew this was what had to be done for our family, but I agreed on _my_ terms. Terms the Lehnsherr so casually destroyed. I’m a marked man, now, and no matter how hard I may try to spend this year like those before it, to say goodbye to _my_ life the way I wanted to, no woman of society will have me because now I’m someone else’s property.” Raven flinched again, and Charles laughed, seeing the guilt in her eyes and knowing, now, that the duel was won. “So you’ve realized it too. Father’s _selling_ me. Lord MacTaggert has the money to make all of his debts vanish, and we have the good standing and name to make it worth his while. He’ll see his grandchildren become _proper_ nobility, and die a happy man.” He sighed, crossing over to pour himself a glass of brandy. “The damned _Scot_.”

“You liked the Scottish just fine before you were told you were marrying one,” Raven said softly, coming up beside him and sliding an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ll find a man can grow to hate a great many things he loved once he’s chained to it.”

He attempted to shrug her arm off, but she persisted, and after a moment he sighed and leaned into the touch, taking a moment to let the tension between the fade as he sipped his brandy and tried to think of more pleasant times.

“You’ve come to tell me something,” he said finally, looking over at her expectantly. “You only ever have that look when you’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear. What does Father want, now? Please tell me this isn’t about my horse again...”

“No,” she said, shaking her head as she reached to take the glass of brandy away from him and steal a sip. “It’s about Lady MacTaggert. Since the word is out, Father and Lord MacTaggert have decided that you and your betrothed can now freely spend time in each other’s company. You’ll still have your year before they’ll force your hand,” she pointed out before he could protest, a hand on his chest to stop him from arguing. “But with secrecy no longer a priority, they’ve arranged a meeting. Today. She’s on her way, and I’m to fetch you to entertain her.”

“I’m to _entertain_ her?” Charles shook his head with another sneer, snatching the glass back and draining it in a few short gulps. He’d certainly need that and _more_ if this wasn’t some sort of cruel prank on his father’s behalf. “What are we even to do? The weather is too horrid for riding, or even walking about the grounds and I will be _damned_ if I am letting that... that _woman_ into my study!”

“Then you’d best wish Satan a good day, Charles,” Raven said lightly, patting him on the back before she turned toward the door with him close behind. “Because that is precisely what Father expects. You’ll meet with her, have tea in the library, perhaps lend her a book or two if she wishes, and you’ll be polite and charming and _behave_ yourself.”

“Oh, I’ll behave...”

“Charles.”

“Yes, yes, I get the point,” he mumbled and ran a hand through his hair as the made their way down the halls of their estate, twisting down paths they’d tread a hundred thousand times before toward the grand foyer of their home. “Now tell me, when is my _lovely_ fiancée to arrive? I’m simply _buzzing_ with excitement...”

“Well, Lord Xavier. Had you arrived promptly to greet me, you’d have known I arrived a full half an hour ago.”

“Lady MacTaggert,” Charles said, forcing a rigid smile into place as he turned toward the tragically familiar voice of his betrothed. “Raven, why didn’t you tell me that Lady MacTaggert and her father had already arrived?”

“You never asked,” Raven said, and Charles had just enough time to recognize the triumphant smile on her face as revenge for his earlier blows before his sister had excused herself, vanishing down the hall. His smile faltered toward a scowl for half a moment before he slipped back into his polite mannerisms and returned his focus to the woman who _hadn’t_ fled.

“I must say, my lady, you look lovely today,” he said with a small bow. It was the truth, a rarity for Charles, but there was no denying that MacTaggert was a stunning creature, and one that Charles might have even enjoyed pursuing in another life, if not for circumstances and the flaws in her demeanor that immediately made themselves known.

“Well, Lord Xavier,” she replied with a curtsy, her speech clipped and to the point, business-like as always. “I did my best to put in a good appearance for you. A pity you couldn’t perform the same basic service for my visit...”

“I didn’t know you were coming until a moment ago--”

“Then it is a pity that your father didn’t have the wherewithal to tell you sooner.”

“I’ll ask you not to speak of my father like that, MacTaggert,” Charles said, his voice quiet and cold. “If anything, I find it more likely that _your_ father lacked the decency to give anyone in my household time to prepare.”

Their eyes met, and both sets narrowed as they each waited for the other to crumble before their ire. It was possible the match could have continued for centuries or more, had their fathers not taken that moment to approach their children and comment on how well they were getting on, already. Their simultaneous eye-rolling ending the contest before it was truly heated, and both were free to continue their attacks at leisure, once they’d been dismissed to Charles’ study for tea and presumably polite conversation.

“Did you have a safe trip from...” Charles pursed his lips as if in thought as he sat down and picked up his teacup. “What tiny, wretched town is it you’re from again?”

“Charming as always, Charles,” she replied with a mirthless grin. “I must say, it’d have been an easier trip if your roads weren’t broken down death traps.”

“As if the roads are so much better near you.”

“At least _we_ don’t pretend to be something we’re not.”

“And just what is that meant to imply, MacTaggert?”

She sighed, setting her teacup down and looking at Charles as if he was something disgusting on her riding boot, a trifle meant to be disposed. “Let’s be honest with each other, at least,” she said, her voice level, despite the ire he could see in her tension. “Do you really think I want to be forced to marry the wayward son of a spendthift Lord on the verge of losing his estate? Do you think I want to have to deal with your constant behavior? I know you, Xavier. I’ve heard every story, every rumor. Do you know what is said behind your back? About the whores you take in taverns on a weekly basis? About the daughters of low-ranking lords you’ve despoiled, with feigned love tokens and vows of faithfulness?” She laughed, a single bark that was as hard-edged and refined as the lady herself. “You’re a petulant _child_ , Charles. A boastful little boy who can’t control himself, who pretended he would be a bachelor forever even when he passed the point where such things were acceptable, if they ever were. I have no illusions that you will be a good husband. I have no illusions that you’ll even be a tolerable one, so let me make one thing perfectly clear to you: I am only doing this for the same reason you are, to please my father. If I had any real choice in the matter, I can assure you that you would be the absolute last man I would _ever_ choose to marry. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” Charles said, sneering as he set down his own teacup. “It’s good to know you think almost as little of me as I think of you,” and it was his turn to laugh, something dark and warm and almost dangerously mirthful in its mockery. “They talk about you, too, you know. They say what a pity is that you’re so cold, so withdrawn. That you would have found a husband by now if you knew how to smile without looking furious in the process. You wouldn’t understand the pleasures of life if they stared you in the face and slapped you. I can assure you, our marriage won’t be a long one. I’ll die of boredom before my hair even turns grey.”

“Excellent,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Because spending even that long with you will leave me bald, all my hair torn out in frustration at your antics.”

“Lovely!” Charles snapped. “You’d look better without it!”

“As if you care what a woman looks like. From what I’ve heard, after two drinks you can’t tell the different between a barmaid, her mother, and the horse you rode in on!”

“Well at least I’d still know all three of them are a better time than you!”

They stared at each other in silence for several long minutes, both picking up their teacups and taking small sips in between glares. Some small, oft-ignored part of Charles, deep within him, felt good to get their concerns in the air. Though it was hardly a _friendly_ agreement, there was some camaraderie in knowing that he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with the idea. Still, he didn’t see any reason to admit such a thing to MacTaggert, of all people.

“This is a fine mess your _friend_ has gotten us into,” he said finally, setting his empty cup down and crossing his arms. “If he hadn’t spoiled my plans, we’d still have almost a year before we’d be pressed into this. we could have _enjoyed_ our last days of freedom. Now we’re to be imprisoned _and_ tortured. Isn’t that _fetching_?”

“Erik only did what he thought was best,” she replied sternly, his eyes narrowed. “Unlike certain parties, he knows what is _respectable_.”

“Too bad he _doesn’t_ know where his place is.”

“Erik Lehnsherr is a good man, Xavier,” she said, her voice firm and ice cold, “and I will not tolerate you insulting him. He is a very dear friend to myself and my father, and you will learn to respect him.”

“Well, while we’re being honest,” Charles hissed. “Let me make it very clear to _you_ that no friend of yours shall _ever_ have my respect. Anyone who looks to _you_ for pleasurable company clearly has no idea what pleasure really is.”

“He’ll be disappointed to hear that,” MacTaggert noted. “For some incomprehensible reason, he wanted to better make your acquaintance, to apologize for any inconvenience he caused you. He hoped I would be able to arrange a meeting on his behalf.”

“Well,” Charles snapped, his sneer returning. “You can tell Mr. Lehnsherr that while I’m sure such cowardly means of communication may be appropriate in the world of business, in polite society, you apologize to a man in person, not through an intermediary. Tell him that if he wants to arrange a meeting, it shall be something for him to arrange himself -- and, furthermore, you can tell him that he needn’t bother, because I will _never_ meet with him.”

“You’re _impossible_!” she replied, climbing to her feet. “I’m done with this. We’ve spent enough time to appease our fathers. Good day, Lord Xavier, and may it be many more before we meet again!”

“Likewise!” Charles called after her as she turned and stormed out of his study, slamming the doors behind her. He supposed, in the moment, that he ought to feel bad for letting things escalate, but in the end, all he could do was shake his head as he crossed over to his desk, picked up a book, and scowled down at its pages.


	3. Chapter 3

For six days, the letter sat where Charles had thrown it, unopened, unread, and thoroughly unwanted upon his desk, where it was surrounded by the young lord’s other papers and articles of business. It was, for the most part, noticeable only for how thoroughly unnoticeable it was, with the only thing that made it different from the other objects upon the desk being how it was greeted with a scowl every time Charles walked into his study. Still, despite how _very_ clear it was that the young lord viewed this particular letter in absolute contempt, the servants had learned early on that they were _not_ to dispose of it. That was an incident that had almost ended terribly, with Charles snapping at the poor maid for a good twenty minutes, until the lesson was thoroughly learned. He enjoyed having the letter there to hate more than he would be relieved by its absence.

During the seventh day, Charles sat at his desk, thumbing through the pages of a critical response to Darwin’s theory, and occasionally glancing over the top of the book to glare at the sealed envelope with dark eyes, and to the name _Lehnsherr_ upon it. He hadn’t expected the man to actually call his bluff, hadn’t expected him to _care_. He’d already ruined Charles’ life, what further suffering could he possibly push upon the young lord at this point in the game?

“Well, if _you’re_ not going to read it, I will,” Raven snapped from the couch, tossing aside her own book and crossing her arms. “You’ve been staring at that thing for a week, he’s probably expecting a response.”

Before Charles could quite react to what was happening in front of him, the envelope was snatched off of his desk and the seal broken by the dull blade of his letter opener. Raven’s hands were quick, tossing aside the useless paper as she unfolded the single sheet that had been within it with a thoughtful purse of her lips.

“‘The most admired Lord Charles Xavier,’” she read grandly, getting a groan from the older sibling as he realized there was no escaping at this point. She paused just long enough to give him a bratty smirk that was met with a glare, then continued: “‘I hope that this letter finds you in the most excellent health and spirits, my lord, and that the same extends to your father and dear sister, of whom my friend Lady MacTaggert speaks most highly.

“‘I write to apologize, sir, for the inconvenience our first meeting may have caused you. I sincerely swear that it was not my intention to distress you, beyond a bit of a good-natured exchange of wits that singular evening...’” Charles interrupted his sister with a derisive snort. Of _course_ Lehnsherr hadn’t intended things to be inconvenient -- that was certainly easy for him to _say_. “‘I have heard through both Lady MacTaggert and my other friends amongst good society that you have been in a rut as of late because of the information I let slip, and I do apologize. Had I known that my words would harm you so, I would not have spoken them so publicly. Please believe me when I say that this was not how I wished to make my first impression, after wanting to meet you for some time. I hope I can remedy this error, and indeed believe I have a proposition for how to do so.’”

“What?” Charles asked, his brow furrowing as he reached for the letter only to have Raven step out of his reach. “What is he talking about? What proposition?”

“You’d have known a week ago if you’d read the letter then,” Raven teased. “Now, if you want to know, shut up and let me finish.”

Charles sighed and sank back into his chair, waving for her to continue. Best to humor her, he imagined.

“‘As you know, I am a good friend not only of Lady MacTaggert, but of her father and, as such, have recently been in contact with _your_ father, Lord Brian Xavier--’”

“He’s been talking to father?”

“Shut up, Charles. ‘Both of the gentlemen wish that you and your betrothed could become better acquainted, and as a means of facilitating that, I have suggested that you and Moira come and spend the rest of the summer with me at my country estate in the south. I shall be there to chaperone, of course, and as such perhaps you and I could become much better acquainted...’”

Raven trailed off, her brow arching upward as she looked to her brother. “Is it just me,” she said, her tone mocking, “or does it sound like he fancies you a bit, Charles?”

“Don’t be obscene, Raven!” her brother snapped.

“I’m just joking, Charles,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now where was I... right: ‘Both of your fathers have said this idea sounds splendid, and have agreed to it. While I suspect from what Lady MacTaggert has said of your last meeting that you will be reluctant to attend, I must point out that your father truly thinks it is for the best that you and the Lady spend as much time together before your nuptials as possible, and this will give you ample opportunity to learn to see the better parts of one another. I assure you, Lady MacTaggert is not the cold woman that the rumour mill would have you believe, and I am certain that you are not the monster which she paints you to be. I truly think you two could be happy, if you met and--’”

“Enough,” Charles said, losing his patience. “I get the point. Does he say anything else about this visit he’s planning?”

Raven scanned the letter, nodding after a moment. “It’s to be next weekend. He’s already made the travel arrangements. Oh, and he says he asked Father not to tell you, so that he could tell you himself. That explains why we’re just hearing about it now.” She smirked, folding the letter up. “It sounds like a grand time, Charles.”

“Oh, yes, it’s quite a _fetching_ idea,” Charles sneered, though it soon shifted into something of a manic smirk. “And I’m sure we’ll have an excellent time of it.”

“We?”

“You’re coming with me,” the young lord said, climbing to his feet. “It isn’t proper for a young woman like Lady MacTaggert to travel in the company of two men without another woman beside her. You’ll come and make us a full set and, more importantly, you’ll keep that ghastly woman and her _friend_ from teaming up against me.”

“You _can’t_ be serious...”

“Do it, or I have Henry replaced.”

“You _wouldn’t_.”

“He’s not that good of a stableboy,” Charles pointed out with a shrug. “It’d be _easy_.”

“You’re a terrible brother,” Raven sighed, shaking her head. “You know I would have gone if you’d just _asked_.”

“It’s more fun this way,” Charles said with a small chuckle, leaning on his desk. “And considering how little fun we’ll be having for the rest of the summer, I think I ought to be allowed my games with you.”

“Oh, speak for yourself. I plan on having quite a bit of fun. The south is lovely this time of year.”

Charles rolled his eyes. However lovely the south may be, that didn’t change the fact that his company was going to be anything but.

\- - - 

When Lehnsherr’s coach arrived the following weekend, it was after Charles’ father had given both of his children the strictest instructions to behave. There were to be no repetitions of the MacTaggerts’ last visit, and there was certainly no animosity permitted on Charles’ behalf. They were going to be the perfect guests, or God help them.

Raven, of course, accepted this missive with a smile and a bow of her head, gracious and sweet and everything that her guardian could want in a ward. Charles’ smile was far colder, sharper too, and his father could only repeat the command helplessly as his son rolled his eyes. Whatever Charles’ intentions may have been for this entire venture, being a sweet and submissive guest was certainly not in the cards.

The trip was dreadfully long, but he was at least glad that they wouldn’t have to deal with MacTaggert and Lehnsherr until they’d arrived. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive time stuck with them in the expanse of Lehnsherr’s estate. The thought of being locked in a coach with the two of them for such a long journey was, he imagined, some form of Hell reserved for the vilest of sinners. Whether or not he was among such esteemed damned was another matter entirely.

They amused themselves with a few silly card games Charles had learned in his less than scrupulous ventures. They reminisced with old stories of childhood mischief, pranks played on the household staff or old headmasters and mistresses in their school days. Eventually, Charles told some of the more humorous tales of his conquests, and after some coaxing and a few sips of the wine Charles had smuggled into the coach, Raven was willing to share some -- though they weren’t many -- of the details of her affair with the Henry the stableboy, and though Charles did his best to seem absolute unimpressed with the lad’s performance (“Really? You think that’s impressive?” and “That’s adorable,” quickly became mantras, of sorts), he admitted he was glad to see his sister so happy, even if such romantic claptrap otherwise would have sickened him.

After some time, their travel was ended and the coach came to a slow halt beside what Charles noted with no small amount of hurt pride was an estate far grander than he’d imagined. Lehnsherr’s wealth spoke volumes in the architecture that greeted the two siblings as they stepped out to meet their host and his friend, and the man’s smile spoke several volumes more.

“Lord Xavier, Miss Darkholme,” Lehnsherr said, giving each of them a little bit of a bow as he gestured to the mansion behind him. “Welcome to my estate.”

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Raven said, with a small curtsy. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine,” the older man said, taking her hand and lightly kissing her knuckles. “Lady MacTaggert neglected to tell me that her future sister-in-law was to be so stunning.”

“Both she and my brother failed to describe you. I suppose we’re both at a loss,” Raven chuckled, as Charles rolled his eyes and Moira, standing behind the businessman, came forward with a small sigh and a false smile.

“It must have slipped my mind,” she said, giving the siblings a nod of her head. “Her brother’s _charm_ must have made me forget. My apologies, Erik.”

“Well, he _is_ quite charming...” Lehnsherr smirked as he held his hand out to Charles, and the young lord had to use almost every ounce of willpower not to do his best to crush the man’s fingers in his own.

“I do try, Mr. Lehnsherr,” he said with a slight twist of his lip. “And thank you for the lovely invitation. I’m sure we’ll have an excellent time in this... I’m sorry did you call this an estate?” His brow furrowed in mock confusion. “It’s a little... small, don’t you think?”

Lehnsherr laughed, nodding. “And there is that famous charm. It’s good to see you’ve kept your wits sharp, Lord Xavier. I’d worried when I heard you’d locked yourself away to mope after your spoiled prospects.”

“Well, after your stunning introduction, I had little other option.” Charles frowned at Raven, ignoring the chuckle she gave the other man’s words and the smile he returned to her.

“I’m sure you’ll get over it eventually,” Moira said, rolling her eyes. “Erik’s estate is quite lovely. It makes even the most intolerable of presences bearable.”

“Ah, Lady MacTaggert,” Charles said, with a sigh and a grin. “You speak too little of yourself. I’m sure no matter how lovely Lehnsherr’s estate, I’ll still find your presence torturous.”

“Lovely.”

“You’ll have to excuse them, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Raven interrupted, before the battle could grow _too_ heated. “It’s how they display affection.”

“Then they must really love one another,” the businessman replied with a smirk. “Is this how everyone in your family flirst?”

“Not _everyone_.”

“Excellent,” his smirk grew a bit as Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes and groan. “I imagine you two would like to get settled before dinner, though?”

Charles nodded before Lehnsherr sent the two siblings off with a servant to their rooms, where they could change out of their traveling clothes. It was, in the young lord’s eyes, a terrible mistake to have come here, and he was already starting to regret letting Raven read that infernal letter -- and, even more so, regretting his decision to agree to the entire arranged marriage in the first place. Worse though, was the fact that his sister was starting to look like she was _enjoying_ herself. That would never do.

“My, isn’t that interesting,” he said coldly as they walked down the hall.

“What?”

“Five minutes, a big estate, and a toothy grin and you forget all about Henry,” Charles sneered. “I can’t believe you were _flirting_ with him like that.”

“I was not flirting with him.”

“‘Then I suppose we’re both at a loss,’” Charles mocked, duplicating Raven’s chuckle with a sickening crack of his voice. “You were disgusting.”

“Well,” the blonde girl said, as the servant opened the door to her room. “If I didn’t know any better, Charles, I’d say it sounds as if you were jealous.”

She closed the door quickly, leaving him to fume in the hall for a few moments before, finally, he turned to follow his guide to his own room. That suggestion was nothing short of insulting, as far as Charles was concerned.


	4. Chapter 4

Their days at the country estate soon settled into a pattern of sorts. 

They’d awake early, sunlight filtering in through the large windows that ran throughout the building and rousing them, they’d dress in something airy and light, appropriate for the summer warmth, and soon they’d find themselves seated to breakfast out on the veranda, overlooking the nearby lake as servants danced about pouring tea and filling their plates with toast. And Charles and Moira would start to argue.

Breakfast would end with Raven and Erik exchanging exasperated sighs that they thought the other two didn’t notice (they did), and then they’d move on to walk across the grounds, admiring the many natural wonders of Erik’s property -- from the birds that nested in his arbor, to the rare flowers he’d had imported for his garden. And then, Charles and Moira would argue more.

Tea would be taken on the veranda again, and Raven would try to engage Moira in some gossip about the city girls, to try and distract the Lady from Charles’ ire. Erik would then engage Charles in conversation, a discussion of business or politics that would always invoke short, stunted responses from Charles, before he’d interrupt Moira’s description of the latest Parisian news to point out that she certainly wasn’t one to talk about _fashion_.

Erik would laugh, Raven would sigh, and Charles and Moira would be fighting again, trading insults well into the afternoon. 

Somehow, over the course of this charade of socialization, Charles noticed his sister getting closer to the other woman, noticed they’d share their own private jokes, laughing in that way the ladies of society did, trading stories over tea and sharing smirks when Charles and Erik would spar verbally. His pride burned, imagining the treasonous jokes Raven must make behind his back to curry such favor with Lady MacTaggert, and he knew they both caught the glares he’d give them when they’d start laughing in their little corner in the brief moments when Erik wasn’t holding his attention. It was sickening, to see such betrayal in Raven’s eyes as she’d smile and tell him, once they were alone, that MacTaggert wasn’t _so_ terrible, that she really _did_ have sense of humor underneath the gruff, business-first manner, that it wouldn’t be so bad to marry her, would it?

And, as such, Charles was neither surprised nor altogether that upset when Raven announced at breakfast that she and Moira planned to ride into town together, taking a small purse so they could do a bit of shopping and, most of all, so that they could have some time without the _men_ mucking about, ruining their time together. Having them out of _his_ hair, with their smiles and laughs, would be a more than welcome prize, and he happily bid them adieu in between sips of tea along with Erik, fully content to spend the day in Lehnsherr’s admittedly expansive library. It would have been a relaxing change, to have access to a collection of books outside of his own. He was actually starting to look forward to it, when he felt the other man’s hand slapping him on the back after they were gone, felt the strong hand on his shoulder tugging him away from the table.

“Come, Xavier,” he heard him say with that maddening too-toothy grin. “Let me show you the rest of the estate.”

Charles supposed he could have refused. It wasn’t as if he’d had the proper warning for a day out about the grounds -- he certainly wasn’t _dressed_ for that sort of thing -- but the plaintive look in Lehnsherr’s eye when he’d been about to refuse, and the remembered words of Raven, urging him to at least _try_ and be civil cut through his spiteful resolve, and he acquiesced with a sigh. One walk around the grounds wouldn’t kill him, and he’d already seen most of it, hadn’t he? How much could Erik _possibly_ have left to show him?

 

“Technically my lands end at the shore, but there isn’t anyone around to claim the lake, so it might as well be my property,” Erik said after a good two (or three; Charles had lost track) hours of walking under the hot summer sun had passed. They now stood on the aforementioned shore, and Charles tugged at the collar of his shirt, only half-listening to the other man’s description of the flora and fauna to be found around the lake. Not for the first time in his life, Charles found himself lamenting the fact that there was no properly polite way to tell someone you frankly didn’t _care_ , too absorbed in wiping sweat from his brow with his kerchief as Erik gave him that damned grin again, jerking his head toward the water. “I’ve always liked having my own private lake during the warmer months. There are few things as lovely as the view in the spring, and during the summer...”

Erik’s smile faded as he trailed off, and his brow arched at Charles as if they’d just shared some brilliant stratagem. He nodded, jerking his head toward the lake again and looking Charles up and down. 

“How about a swim?” he asked, smiling a bit impishly, as if fighting off a laugh. “You look as though you’re positively _melting_ , Charles. A dip might do you good.”

Charles laughed, shaking his head. No. He was not going to allow _Lehnsherr_ that sort of camaraderie, not even as the sun cut through the clouds to sting his eyes, reminding him that his shirt was already almost soaked through, that his jacket felt impossibly heavy. 

“We shouldn’t, Mr. Lehnsherr,” he pointed out as Erik started to undress. “It wouldn’t be decent -- we’ve no bathing suits.”

“I don’t see any ladies about, Charles,” Erik said, quickly stripped to the waist. “Have you never heard of a few gentlemen eschewing such things for a bit of a lark?” He smirked, shaking his head at Charles. “Or... _oh_.” He laughed again, his hands resting on the waistband of his trousers. “It’s all right, Charles. I won’t force you if you’re uncomfortable. I simply didn’t expect you’d be afraid of--”

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Charles interrupted, his brow furrowing. “Afraid of _what_? I’m not _afraid_ , Lehnsherr.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Erik said, bowing his head. “I merely presumed... well, a man of _your_ breeding, it’d be understandable if you weren’t accustomed to the water, or didn’t know how to swim--”

“I can swim quite fine, thank you,” Charles snapped. “I could probably swim better than you, if I wanted.”

The challenge was there in Erik’s eyes, and that was enough to pull a sneer from Charles and make him reach for his collar. Erik finished undressing and was in the water first, but Charles was close behind, taking himself away from the shore with a few quick strokes before he turned to face the older man.

“First to that rock, then?” he asked, pointing to an outcropping some meters away along the shore. Erik nodded, and Charles did the honours of counting them down. The race was begun, the young lord intent on winning solely to spite the businessman.

They never did quite make it to the rock, though Charles imagined he’d swear for the rest of his life that he would have won if they had. After all, Erik had only grabbed his leg to pull him back because the businessman had fallen behind, and if not for that spot of cheating, they would have finished the race. Instead, Charles responded by splashing at the taller man’s face with a laugh, sending waves of water at him with a few deft kicks. Not to be outdone, Erik responded with a barrage of his own. This escalated, as the two gave in to their boyish instincts, into a war of sorts, ended only when Erik, overwhelmed by Charles’ aquatic attack, forsook splashing and tackled him around the middle. Underneath the water, Charles’ agility was the advantage, letting him slip from Erik’s grasp easily.

Thus began a game of cat and mouse, with either of them taking turns at the predator, dragging each other under the surface in half-hearted attempts at dominance. Throughout, they laughed, giving each other alternating challenging and triumphant taunts in between splashes and tackles, sputtering occasionally as they were plunged mid-sentence. It went on for some time without a victor, but eventually Charles felt himself tiring, and he made his way to the shore, lying down on his back in the grass beside the lake. 

The sun didn’t feel quite so oppressive now, beating down on his wet skin, and he supposed the swim _had_ been a good idea, as he watched Erik come out of the water after him. He realized now, seeing the other man’s body unadorned, that despite his rich lifestyle, Erik still had the build of a working man, muscled and lean, and Charles felt a bit self-conscious about his own naked frame. He knew he was still handsome, and in shape worth bragging about, but he couldn’t help but admire the other man as he approached and moved to lay on the grass not far from him.

“My Lord Xavier,” Erik said softly, a small smirk on his face. “I do believe you’re smiling.”

“Perhaps,” Charles laughed, shaking his head. “Perhaps not.”

“No, you’re most certainly smiling,” the taller man said, running a hand through his hair as he lounged easily on the grass, looking as comfortable on the ground as most men would look in their parlours. “I think it’s the first real smile I’ve seen on that face of yours since you arrived at my estate.”

“ _Perhaps_ ,” Charles insisted, shaking his head. Something in Erik’s own grin changed, though, the euphoric, almost mad grin shifting into something softer, more subdued.

“I wish you’d smile more often,” the businessman said softly. “You have a good smile -- friendly and warm, that’s why so many people enjoy your company.”

“Is that why you keep insisting on trying to befriend me?” Charles inquired, though the heat he’d intended to put into the question had evaporated into something softer along with his smirk. 

“Among other reasons,” Erik chuckled, shaking his head. “Should I take these smiles to mean I’ve made some progress, then?”

“ _Perhaps_ ,” Charles said again, closing his eyes and focusing on the warmth of the sun upon his skin. They would have a few hours before the ladies would return, at least. He saw little reason why they couldn’t relax, and had the distinct impression that Erik agreed.

“I suppose I’ll just have to accept that,” he heard Erik mumble as he started drifting off. “Rest well, my friend.”


	5. Chapter 5

By the time the two women had returned, Charles and Erik had gone for another brief swim and dressed properly, the young lord deciding that their brief foray into uncivilised behavior would remain a secret between the two of them and firmly informing the businessman that such was to be the case. Erik had laughed, but had eventually agreed at Charles’ insistence, and thus for the remainder of their time together, the events of that afternoon were kept from Raven and Moira’s knowledge.

Still, despite being unaware of the precise moment when Charles had found himself considering that Lehnsherr might be _slightly_ worthwhile, Raven did mention when alone with him that her brother seemed more at ease in the estate, and that the two men would now occasionally share their own private jokes, when the ladies had slipped off into their own conversation. Charles scoffed, denying any implication that the two were becoming _friendly_ , but Raven simply replied with the knowing smile he’d come to recognize well over the long course of their years together, and Charles knew better than to press the argument. He’d long ago learned how to spot a fight he had absolutely no hope of winning.

As the summer slowly but surely drew to a close, it could even be said that Charles and Moira had become more civil to one another -- though, in truth, such would have been an incorrect assumption. No amount of love was lost betwixt the two affianced nobles, and the fact that they argued less as the summer went on could be attributed more to the fact that they’d found excellent and effective distractions in the two other inhabitants of the manor, and the simple matter of them running out of features to insult in one another. Plainly put, though Charles was the epitome of stubborn, even _he_ couldn’t be bothered to point out the same flaws in MacTaggert’s personality more than a dozen or so times. They’d grown bored of their game, and it seemed the entire estate was the better for it, as the oppressive heat that had reigned over them hitherto had since dissipated, broken by fresh breezes that would come through Erik’s property and soothe the damage done by the summer sun. 

One could say that things were looking up, which was why Charles was a bit loathe to depart, when the time finally came, the loss of this idyllic wonderland reminding him of the greater loss to come. It was only a matter of time before all freedom was taken from him.

“And just when I thought you’d learned to stop being so melodramatic about all of this,” Raven chided from her seat in the carriage, shaking her head as she glanced out at the bit of countryside she could spot through the window. “You’ll have all of the MacTaggert wealth at your fingertips, you know. You _could_ find a way to enjoy that.”

“What use would it be, if it comes with the MacTaggert family _ghoul_?”

“That’s hardly a polite way to refer to your in-laws...”

“I was referring to my _fiance_...” Charles sighed, settling back in his seat and letting his eyes drift up to the roof of their carriage. “MacTaggert family ghoul. I’ll have to remember that for the next time I see that vile woman. It’s a pity I couldn’t think of it while we were at the estate.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Thank you.”

Charles ignored the roll of his sister’s eyes as they continued in their journey. By this point, they were already close to their own manor, humble as it was, and though the silence that fell between them was somewhat heavy, it was bearable for the short ride, and Charles endured. It wasn’t long before the soft pat of hooves on dirt roads was replaced with the clapping of cobblestones, and the two siblings found themselves looking upon their familiar home. 

Something, however, made Charles ill at ease, and he could tell from the tension in Raven’s shoulders as she stood beside him, that she could sense something was amiss as well. Their differences were soon set aside, as they walked up the path, catching the sober expressions on the serving staff, and the way they would look away from lord and lady sadly. 

“Hank,” Raven whispered, grabbing the stableboy’s arm as he tried to lead the horses away, but the boy simply shook his head, mumbling that their father would want to see them, they should see him right away, that there was little time to spare. 

Unsurprisingly, this did little to set their minds at ease, though it hardly prepared them for the sight of their father, laid out on his bed and as pale as the sheets around him. Unwelcome was the sight of the family physician, at his side, his face hollow and mirthless, and Charles found his blood running cold as Raven took tight hold of his hand, her fingers trembling against his palm.

“Father...”

“Now, now, there’s no need for that,” the old man said softly, forcing a smile though the effort obviously pained him. “I’m not dead yet.”

“This is no time for jokes, father,” Raven whimpered, giving Charles’ hand a squeeze.

“No,” the old man admitted. “I’m afraid it is not...”

The doctor was brief with his summary of their father’s condition -- hopeless, but not immediately slow, and that was somehow worse to their senses, as he went on. The idea of their guardian slowly fading was hardly a comforting one, and Charles felt his own resolve fading as Raven slipped into tears, his father’s words cracking through the armor he’d built over years of living with the man, as he realized what the man’s loss would mean.

“Your debts,” he whispered, his voice cracking on the words. “If you die, before... before we can clear them...”

“That’s my clever boy,” the elder Lord Xavier mumbled, a satisfied smirk crossing his face. “It will need to be taken care of, yes. Thankfully, Lord MacTaggert is understanding... He has agreed to move the wedding up to December. The good doctor says I should last that long, at least...”

“December?” Charles repeated hollowly, his mind only vaguely recognizing that this cut a full six months from his planned bachelorhood, a full six months of freedom stolen. He swallowed, his chest tightening. His father, his freedom, his life; it seemed he’d have little left, even if the debt collectors were held at bay. 

Still, he nodded, holding his sister’s hand tightly as she wept, and staying with her by their father’s side after the physician departed. The night was passed together in silence, none of them daring to break the veil with words, as one was consumed by his illness, the second by her grief, and the last with thoughts of loss, and of his duty to be fulfilled.


End file.
